Closer
by nonotthatone
Summary: Clex, one-shot, AT beginning in Reckoning. If Clark hadn't been able to reverse Lana's accident, where does that leave him and Lex? Not particularly slashy, mostly friendship/angst and one very bad pirate joke.


A/N: I don't own any of this.

This is an AT fic, beginning halfway through "Reckoning," just after Lana's accident. I borrowed a bit from the funeral too but the rest of this is all AT/AU.

For SG, with thanks for helping me remember "altruistic," and apologies for everything else.

* * *

Closer

"_Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."  
- Sun-Tzu_

Clark lingered at the side of the grave as the rest of the crowd began to drift away. Snow swirled through the air and flakes kept landing on his face, but he didn't bother to brush them away; they melted as they touched his skin and mingled with his tears.

Jor-El had been unrelenting. It had been all Clark could do not to smash the Fortress to smithereens with his own bare hands; he'd wanted to do it. Instead he'd shouted himself hoarse, fighting with all his power for Lana's life. But it had done no good.

Jonathan had been right; there'd been nothing he could do, not at the scene of the accident and not in that frozen wasteland either. He wasn't sure who he hated more, Jor-El or himself. It was easy to blame his birth father – he'd warned Clark this would happen, and Clark should have learned better by now than to count upon his mercy. But Clark had ignored the warnings, and his carelessness had cost Lana her life. He'd wanted to believe he was making the right choices; he'd wanted to believe he would be allowed some happiness.

He'd been wrong, and he'd killed Lana as surely as if he'd rolled the car himself.

And now there was nothing left for him to do but kneel here beside her grave, scattering soil with his hands as if he had some right to mourn her. As if he wasn't the one responsible.

The guilt raged in him like fire; and he was impervious to fire, but still he burned. He wondered blackly if this was what humans mean when they talk of being in hell.

-

Lex hung back in the shadow of some hulking marble monument. He'd meant to approach Clark the second he could catch him alone; it was easier somehow, had always been easier to talk to Clark when it was just the two of them. But as he watched Clark cast dirt into Lana's grave, his purpose ebbed. The strength of the grief in Clark's expression hurt him, and made him doubt.

Guilt was an emotion Lex could never master. It crippled him now. There was no other way to say it, no point in skirting the issue: he had killed Lana. She had come to him in friendship and kindness – and like any other thing he'd ever loved, he had destroyed her.

It didn't matter that the police had dismissed him as a bystander. He knew the truth; he knew he was responsible. He had killed Lana as surely as if he'd rolled her car himself.

He knew Clark knew it too. He didn't think Clark had seen him that night at the scene of the accident; but he had seen Lana's cell phone in her hand and he knew there was no one else she could have been talking to. And then Clark had been there – just stepped out of the thin winter air and into the nightmarish scene.

Everything was coming together with such horrifying clarity.

At first he'd almost made an excuse for what he'd seen, as if all of Clark's lies had become such second nature to him that he could continue the pattern on his own: it was dark, he was drunk, shock was making his eyes play tricks, see things that weren't there. No. No, he knew what he had seen.

He'd asked – no, commanded – Lana to tell him Clark's secret. In a way, she had. So many times Lex had raged to himself that he would give anything, everything, to know what Clark was hiding … so this was why they say you must be careful what you wish for. He'd once felt so frustrated, so angry at Clark for not trusting him; now he had to admit that Clark had been right after all. As unbearable as not knowing had been, knowing was a hundred times worse. If he could unlearn it now, and by so doing undo the last few days, he would do it gladly.

Lex had had few sober moments since. The shock of what he'd seen on Route 40 that night had snapped him back to his senses long enough to get home again in one piece; but once he'd gotten there, he'd resumed drinking and hadn't stopped. He drank that night until he passed out, and when he woke the next morning to a splitting headache and an even more excruciating reality, he'd picked the bottle back up and kept going.

He wasn't drunk now though. In fact he had spent the time since daybreak forcing himself to sober up. It was only in part because of how unseemly it would be to turn up drunk to the funeral of a girl he'd killed; mostly, it was because he wanted to feel everything. He'd spent the last three days blissfully numb; it was a relief he didn't deserve. He wanted to feel the weight of his guilt as they lowered Lana's casket into the ground; he wanted every tear shed by those who loved her to stab him directly through the heart.

He wanted to feel it when Clark told him to go to hell.

It was ironic – all the lies they had told each other, all the years wasted keeping secrets, and now all Lex could think of was that he had to be honest with Clark. He had to tell him what he'd seen. He couldn't bear to be alone with what he knew.

He knew it was crazy to even try talking to Clark now. He'd betrayed his trust in a hundred little ways before this; and now he'd taken from him the only two things he'd ever sought to protect. He deserved, he told himself harshly, this searing misery and shame. He would deserve it if Clark answered him with another right hook.

At that thought, Lex's hand lifted almost of its own volition and touched his jaw where Clark's last punch had landed. It was stupid of him to have come here. But Clark had earned the right to take his shot.

He had no idea what else Clark could do, what his grief for Lana might have done to his moral compass or what lengths he might take to protect his secret. It was possible Clark might not even let him live.

It would be fair enough.

With that in mind, Lex slouched forward to meet his fate.

-

Lex had wondered self-consciously what he would say to get Clark's attention. For better or worse, he didn't have to say anything; Clark heard him approach, and whipped around to face him.

"You."

Lex stopped where he stood and raised his hands in front of him. He was ready for blows, but he needed to speak his piece first; that was all he asked. "Clark, I don't mean to intrude. I just wanted to talk to you."

"You have a lot of nerve doing it here and now!"

"I deserve that, and anything else you want to say to me. And I want you to say it all. But before you do, I have to tell you how sorry I am."

"Sorry?" Clark spat. "Lana is _dead_, Lex. Dead! And you're sorry?!"

"I am. It's my fault, Clark – all my fault."

Clark advanced on him with fire in his eyes … but then he stopped. Lex could see him curling and uncurling his fingers. "I won't do this," he mouthed bitterly. "I won't fight with you beside her grave."

"I won't run from you," Lex whispered. "I'll do anything you say, go anywhere you tell me. You can drag me into the woods and beat me senseless if you want. I won't stop you."

"I can't believe you expect me to indulge your melodrama today."

"I'm not being melodramatic. I'm serious. It's all my fault."

Clark was unaccustomed to hearing Lex claim responsibility for anything; but what else he felt beneath that surprise was too jumbled to make real sense of. He still didn't understand exactly why Lana had felt the need to visit Lex that night; he hated that she'd spent her last living moments at the mansion instead of with him. He understood all too well, though, the hurried words she'd spoken just before the cell connection went dead; with revulsion, he relived the moment when he realized that the tense battle between him and Lex might have casualties beyond themselves. For a moment he stood silently, eyeing Lex with confused anger; then he started to walk away.

At first Lex's heart sank; for all the possibilities he'd considered, he'd never thought that Clark would just turn away and leave him standing there. But then he realized Clark wasn't heading towards the road and his parked truck; he was moving towards the edge of the cemetery where it surrendered itself to the trees. Lex swallowed dryly, then followed.

He should have been expecting it, but when they passed beyond the treeline Clark wheeled around so quickly that Lex had no time to react. The blow sent him spinning to the ground. He tasted blood and spat red out onto the snow. Before he could even get his knees under him Clark's hands were on his lapels, lifting him to his feet – and sending him reeling back again with another punch directly to the face.

Lex felt his skin split and never made a sound.

When the attack finally ended and he lay on his hands and knees on the cold, wet ground, he was surprised to find himself fighting back childish tears. He had taken many beatings in his life at the hands of many foes, but he couldn't help it. Never could he recall being hit so hard.

Clark stood back, heaving. The exertion had been nothing, of course, but he still felt like he might be about to throw up, or pass out, or both. He turned from where Lex lay in the snow and leaned against a tree for support. A moment later he heard the rustling of Lex's clothes as he struggled to his feet.

"Want some more?" he snapped over his shoulder.

"If you have any," Lex replied. Clark turned then and saw him feeling his face, checking to see if all his teeth were still there, pressing a few pale fingers to his bleeding lip.

"What do you want, Lex?" he demanded.

They faced each other in silence, like the stone monuments to grief in the cemetery. The metaphor was not lost on Lex. Clark's eyes were flinty and never left his. Finally he looked down. "I had to say it to you myself," he said. "I killed her. I didn't do it with my own hands, but it's my fault she's dead. And if there was anyone who deserved to exact justice for that, it's you." He dropped his hands, squared his shoulders. "So go on, give me whatever you've got."

Clark stared at him and felt his limbs go limp; it was useless. "I'm not going to hit you any more."

"It's all right. I want you to do it."

The insane resignation in his voice almost made Clark come undone. "I'm not going to."

"Why not? Don't you want to? I killed Lana, Clark."

"Stop saying that!"

"Why shouldn't I say it? It's the truth."

"It's not!" Clark yelled, flying at him and grabbing him by the jacket again.

Lex could only stare in disbelief. "How can you say that?"

"Because _I_ killed her!"

Life returned suddenly to Lex's body; he fought his way out of Clark's grip with unexpected strength. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't you dare!" Clark yelled, one accusing finger punctuating his words. "You always want what isn't yours – don't you dare try to take this from me, Lex, or I swear to God I _will_ hit you again."

Lex stared at him, uncomprehending. "I'm not trying to take anything from you, Clark. I thought this would be what you wanted."

"So this is your idea of making me feel better?"

When put that way, Lex did suppose it sounded irrational. "I don't know. I need to pay for what I've done. I know she called you, Clark. I'm sure she told you."

His face seemed to crumple in on itself, and Lex suddenly realized that there was something worse than letting Clark beat him to a bloody pulp: he could be forced to watch Clark cry.

"She said you were drunk. She said you pressed her for answers. And when she left you followed her."

"Yes," Lex said miserably. "That's all true."

"So you feel guilty." Clark's face hardened again. "You should."

"I do." Lex didn't even flinch; it made Clark feel another stab of anger. "I blame myself completely. That's why I'm standing here. That's why I'm perfectly okay with it if you need to continue smashing in my face."

"I bet that would make you feel better," Clark said, his tone ugly.

"No." Lex felt himself smirk; he hated himself for it, but it was such second nature. "No, I expect it would hurt like hell."

Clark made a dismissive sound and turned away again, pressing a hand to his eyes.

"I don't see how you can blame yourself," Lex persisted. "I thought you'd blame me, and be only too happy to make me suffer."

"You're wrong," he snarled. "I've caused enough suffering."

Lex felt such an urge to go to Clark and place a hand on his shoulder. Instead he stuffed them into his pockets. "Look, Clark, I know I'm the last person you'd look to for comfort right now. But you have to know you're not to blame."

"I don't know that." His voice was choked; he was crying again. "You don't either. It _is_ my fault, and I won't let you or anyone else tell me otherwise."

Lex was completely undone. He felt the cold air against the wetness on his face, but was no longer sure if it was blood or tears. "I'm sorry, Clark," he said simply. "I know the pain is excruciating."

"You don't know anything, Lex."

For a moment Lex weighed his words. Finally, he replied softly, "I know enough."

There was something in his voice that made Clark go very, very still. "What does that mean?"

Lex could sense it coming now. He drew one last breath, probably the last he ever would. "It means I saw you."

Clark turned back quickly and took one step closer. He was so tall he closed the distance between them with just that one stride. "You saw me what?"

"Appear. Out of nowhere."

Lex expected Clark to reach out again and put his hands on him in violence. He didn't. He just stared down at him.

"I was there," he repeated. "I saw you. You were just – there, out of nothing. Like you teleported, or else you moved too fast for me to see." The silence stretched on, and he kept talking to fill it. "I guess you didn't notice me standing there."

Clark wracked his brain; what had he done that night? He couldn't remember … it was all a confused horror. He finally spoke. "I didn't."

"Well, I was there," Lex said again, hating how stupid he sounded.

Clark didn't know what to say. It had happened enough times now that he should have started getting used to it, people finding out. He should have started knowing how to respond. And Lex had been pushing at the edges of his secret for so long – he should have known he would figure it out one day. He should have had a plan. He should have been prepared.

He wasn't.

At any other time, he might have felt something; he might have been scared. Strangely, he felt nothing. It seemed right somehow, that everything should fall apart like this: that he should lose Lana, and his own safety, all in the same space of time. And somehow, he didn't even care.

He realized Lex was looking at him, expecting him to respond. His voice was wooden when he finally did, echoing the same words he'd used just minutes before in a very different question. "What do you want, Lex?"

Lex found this stoic reaction completely unnerving. He could have understood rage, or more violence; but Clark seemed utterly devoid of emotion. He was not used to this; Clark was emotion embodied, his heart always open for all to see. But now it was not the wind or his wet clothes that made him cold; it was Clark's stony face. He struggled to keep his grip on his purpose.

"Nothing," he said. "To be honest with you."

"Honest?" Clark repeated the word slowly, carefully, as if it came from a foreign language. "You?"

"I deserve that." Lex lifted his chin, proud in his shame. "I just wanted you to know. I couldn't keep it from you."

Clark's mind worked swiftly even under his unearthly calm. "Oh. So I could know it was you, I suppose. When the world finds out. So I would know it was you who won in the end."

"I haven't told anyone."

"Really? That surprises me. But I guess it shouldn't; you'd want to get something out of it first."

"I'm not trying to blackmail you, Clark."

Frustration peaked. "What then?" he yelled, his sudden rage impressive and frightening. "What could you possibly want from me?"

All of Lex's regret and sorrow coalesced into one word. "Nothing," he repeated softly. "I came here to tell you two things, and let you do what you wanted with them. That's all."

Clark's jaw worked; Lex wondered flatly if he was going to start punching him again.

"I suppose next you're going to tell me how I'm safe with you, that you promise you'll never tell anyone."

"I would," Lex said frankly, "if I thought you would believe it."

"At least you know that much," Clark retorted blackly. "I could make sure you never tell, though. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you myself."

"There aren't any."

Clark just stared at him again.

"What? I could spout at length about how you're too good to do it, about how it wouldn't bring you any peace, about how much I want to live and become worthy of knowing your secret. All of those things are true. But they aren't good reasons. Ultimately the best reason is that you chose to … whatever it is you've chosen. So if you want to kill me, I want you to. Trust me, you'd be doing me a favor."

Clark struggled to follow the reasoning of what he'd just heard. "Don't you try to manipulate me, Lex."

"I'm not. I'm just being honest."

"You're not capable of being honest."

"I know I've made you believe that. I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Clark snapped, slicing the air with one hand. "You said you had two things to say to me; you've said way more than that."

"You're right," he said with a small smile. "I guess I had two more."

"And what are those?"

"That I can be honest with you."

"You've already said that, and I've already answered you. What's left?"

"That I still love you. But that's something I don't intend to apologize for."

Silence, as only the snow-filled woods at the edge of a cemetery could contain.

"What," Clark asked, his expression unreadable, "do you expect me to do with that?"

"Anything you want. Probably not believe it."

"You'd be right."

"Then I won't make you any promises," Lex said artlessly. "Look, Clark, we aren't getting anywhere here. You have two choices. We can finish what you started – I'm right here, I've already told you I won't fight you. Or we can see what lies beyond this moment. Now obviously I have an interest in remaining alive, but I'm leaving it up to you."

A beat. Then, "What exactly did you see?"

"That night? I saw you … I don't know, arrive."

He breathed out heavily. "Then you don't know even a quarter of what I'm capable of. I could kill you with my bare hands."

So matter-of-fact ... Lex was intrigued in spite of himself. For the first time he realized he hoped Clark would let him live; he wanted more. "All right."

He continued to stare.

"Clark, all I have left to say to you are things you won't believe. I'd prefer not to waste my final breaths on words you think are empty."

His voice was tense but measured when he finally responded. "I'm not going to make any decisions here and now."

Lex's strange sensation of hope intensified. "All right," he said again.

"Don't get too comfortable," Clark cautioned.

"I won't."

"I could still …"

"Clark. Are you going to just threaten me to death?"

Again he stared. "I can't believe you're making jokes."

"If I didn't," Lex confessed, "I'd cry."

"I'd love to see that," Clark retorted.

"I'll let you. I loved her too, you know."

"Don't you dare," he said, growing dark and menacing again. "You have no right."

"I know," Lex replied evenly. "I'm sorry."

Clark folded his arms across his chest. "You keep apologizing, as if you actually expect me to forgive you."

"I realize it's foolish. But I know that we cared about each other once. In the face of such loss … it might not be so unnatural … to start again."

"You're getting ahead of yourself. Don't talk about new beginnings when you're not even sure you'll be waking up tomorrow."

"Whatever you want, Clark."

"Whatever I want?" He took one last step closer; Lex could feel his breath on his face and without even thinking, closed his eyes. "I want Lana back."

When Lex opened his eyes again, Clark was gone.

-

The Kents sat, as they so often did at such pivotal moments, around their kitchen table.

"This is bad, Clark."

"I know, Dad. Believe me, I know."

Jonathan was a monument to righteous anger; Martha was quiet, embodying as she always did some silent strength. "What are you going to do?"

Clark lowered his gaze; he couldn't meet their eyes. "I don't know."

"I'll do it for you," Jonathan announced. "I don't mind going to prison, not for this reason. The campaign was ugly enough, people will believe …"

"Dad, stop," Clark interrupted. "You know that's not an option."

"Neither is giving Lex any amount of control over you."

"I haven't given him anything. And he says he doesn't want anything."

"Son, he's lying. He's a Luthor. It's what they _do_."

Confused and miserable, Clark turned his coffee cup around and around in his over-large hands.

"I hate how I never do anything but put this family in danger."

Martha's voice were gentle but imploring. "You know we don't feel that way."

"It doesn't matter how you feel, Mom. The facts are what count. And the fact is, none of this would have happened if I'd just done what Jor-El wanted."

"You couldn't have known …"

"Yes I could have! And I _should_ have!" he shouted, rising so suddenly that he knocked over his chair. "And that makes it all my fault – Dad's heart – Lana's accident – and now this."

"Clark," Martha pleaded. "You've walked a strange path and still grown into a fine, responsible man. You make us so proud. But you can't blame yourself for things beyond your control. It doesn't change anything and it can't help you make sound choices."

Clark hadn't even noticed that his hands had curled to fists; he placed them on the table and leaned, feeling the weight of all his mistakes pressing squarely on his shoulders. "None of my choices recently have turned out very sound. And people keep getting hurt because of it."

Martha looked at Jonathan helplessly; he rose too and placed his work-hardened hands on their son's shoulders. "That's because your options keep getting uglier," he said. "Clark, your mother and I love you. We don't blame you for any of this."

Clark clapped a hand over one of Jonathan's, but said nothing in reply. He could not even look his father in the face.

"Just say the word and I'll load the shotgun," Jonathan persisted.

"Don't even mention that again," Clark mumbled, pulling away. "You've sacrificed enough for me."

-

"Mr. Kent," Lex said almost amiably. " … oh no, I suppose I should say, 'Senator.'"

Inasmuch as Jonathan was taken aback by the impressive shiner Lex was sporting – and he couldn't suppress a little paternal pride – he remained true to his mission. "I'm not interested in playing with you, Lex. You tell me what it is you want, right now."

"I'm not sure I understand you."

"You understand me damn well."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose I _would_ like to tell you about the new scholarship program that LuthorCorp will be unveiling next quarter. Your platform included promises of increased educational opportunity for disadvantaged students; I found your commitment inspiring and thought …"

"That's enough." Lex was impressed; Jonathan came over almost imperious. He would do well in Topeka. "You listen to me; you stay away from my son."

"Mr. Kent, I assure you – "

"Your assurances mean nothing to me. I don't know what you're planning but I promise you, you meddle with my family and you will regret it."

"I have no plans," Lex replied quietly, "only hopes."

"Well, whatever you're hoping had better not involve my son."

"I only hope that he can come to forgive me. I've done you all tremendous wrongs."

Jonathan was taken aback by such an unexpected remark. Lex found it interesting how much like Clark he was, standing there silently staring; apparently nurture could create similarities that nature did not.

"It's all right that you don't believe me. I hope for the chance to prove it to you. But until that day comes, you're welcome to barge into my home and brandish threats at any time."

Jonathan's exit was not as sudden as Clark's had been, but there was definitely a family resemblance.

-

Clark could tell Martha was coming before he even heard her footsteps on the stairs. Something preceded her: kindness, love enveloped her like an aura. A moment later she was there with him in the loft, enfolding him in her arms.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said, and he began to cry again. It was the first time he'd heard those words today and really felt them.

Martha held him for a long time, as she had when he was a child, until his angry sobs became quiet tears and finally began to slow. She stroked his head, her tenderness undiminished even though he dwarfed her now. "I love you," she whispered into his hair, "so much."

He knew it. "I love you too, Mom."

She finally pulled back to arm's length, reached up and wiped his tears away. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm still not sure," he said miserably. "The only thing I can think of that could keep Lex from to exposing my secret … would be to do it myself."

Martha kept listening, her hand tight on his.

"I don't know if I can do that, though," he went on, looking at her beseechingly. "I don't want to bring that kind of scrutiny down on you and Dad. I don't want to cost him his Senate seat."

"Your father doesn't back down that easily," she assured him. "But even if it did cost him the Senate, you know he would give it up willingly for you."

"I don't want that," Clark insisted. "He worked so hard for it – and everyone worked so hard for him. He can do so much good."

"He can," Martha agreed. "But the only one he really wants to do good for is you."

Clark looked at his mother and felt such tremendous admiration – and despair. "I love you so much, Mom. I wish I could have brought you anything but trouble."

She smiled and patted his hand. "I wouldn't change you, Clark. Not for the world. In fact, I think the world will need you exactly as you are."

"Mom … I'm not ready for everyone to know. Not yet." At that moment he reminded her so much of the little boy he had once been, frightened not of monsters under his bed but of powers beyond his own comprehension. "What should I do?"

Martha sighed faintly. Jonathan was so convinced it was impossible, but she had always had this need to believe the best of people. She considered her words carefully. "… Lionel," she finally said, "helped your father too, in so many ways."

"What does that – "

"It means that a person can change. A trauma, a loss, can make someone become … someone different."

Clark gaped at her. "You aren't saying that you think I can trust Lex?"

"I don't know if you can. But you were close once – and I believe that he loved you. That much was always clear to me." She smiled at him, a little sadly. "It might be too late for him, Clark – but maybe it's not."

"He's been trying to find out my secrets for years," Clark whispered.

"But now they're in the open," she answered simply. "They can't hurt you anymore."

"But, Mom," he choked, tears welling up again. "Lana."

"I know, baby," she said, taking him back into her arms. "I know."

-

"The fact is, Clark," Chloe said, picking nervously at the stars on the sheets of Clark's perpetually unmade bed, "that he can be a useful ally."

"Useful? What are you talking about?"

"You know me and my connections," she said pragmatically. "You never know who will come through for you."

"Come on, Chloe. Even you wouldn't do a deal with the devil."

"Thanks a lot," she retorted. "Look, I know Lex is a hard guy to pin down, but I don't think he's the devil. Okay, he has a megalomaniacal side that is positively terrifying. But he also has good in him – we've seen it."

"Whatever good he has," Clark retorted, "is awfully mixed up in other things."

"He does seem to have some kind of magnetic attraction for shady situations. But he always has an explanation for everything. And maybe it's all LuthorCrap, I don't know, I suppose he could've inherited his father's talent for storytelling. But at the end of the day, Clark, I can't forget this: he saved my life. And not just once, or by accident; he protected me. He cared about me. And I wasn't even …"

"… What?"

She looked at him a little sadly. "I wasn't even you."

"Neither was Lana."

Chloe sighed, kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the bed, pulling her knees into her chest. "Clark … the last time Lana and I talked about Lex, she told me she trusted him."

"You talked about Lex?"

She shrugged. "Girl talk."

"What else did she say?" he asked eagerly.

"There wasn't anything going on between them, if that's what you mean."

"No – I know that."

"She wouldn't tell me what they were working on. But she said he was honest with her." Chloe shot him a sideways glance. "And she seemed to be deliberately _not_ saying that you weren't."

Clark stared morosely out the window over the fields. "I was honest with her though. And that's why she died."

"Clark – that's not true," Chloe said gently. "She swerved to avoid a bus. That's why she died."

"She never would have been on that road if she and Lex hadn't argued," he said, turning and fixing his shattered eyes on her. "And they were arguing about me. About my secret."

Chloe tried to choose her next words very carefully. "He might have upset her … but he didn't drive that bus through that stop sign. It was an accident, Clark. A million little things led to that moment in time; you can't track it all back to just one cause."

"No, Chloe. You can; it all comes back to me. If I hadn't told her …"

"It doesn't matter, Clark. Even if she hadn't known the answers to Lex's questions, he still would have asked them."

He bristled. "Are you actually sticking up for him?"

"No." Chloe looked down. "But you can't eat yourself about this. It doesn't change things."

"I know," he said flatly. "Lana's still dead."

"Yeah," Chloe replied, blinking back tears. "And Lex still knows your secret."

"People are going to find out eventually." Chloe was surprised to hear such resignation in his voice. "Maybe I shouldn't care."

"Clark – don't you think that the people who know are the ones you should keep by your side?"

"It's not like he's the only one who knows. You know."

She smiled. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."

He ignored her attempt at levity. "Pete knows."

"Right," she answered. "And don't you miss him?"

Clark crossed his arms and resumed pacing around the room. "This isn't about friendship, Chloe."

"I think it is, though. I realize Lex has given you – all of us – a lot of reasons to mistrust him. But he knows now, Clark. That changes everything."

"It doesn't change him."

"I don't know. He hasn't told anyone, or tried to use it to his advantage. Does that sound like the Lex you know?"

Clark huffed but didn't respond.

"You know," Chloe continued meditatively, "I never thought the Clark-Lex Friendship was as unlikely as everyone else seemed to. You're a lot alike."

That didn't help Clark's mood any. "Thanks a lot, Chloe."

"It doesn't have to be a bad thing," she said. "You both have such tremendous power; you both aren't sure how to use it." She gazed at him a moment, considering. Then, "You're both phenomenal liars."

He looked at her disapprovingly.

"Well, it's true. Some of the things you had me believing? I could shoot myself for being so gullible."

"That's different. I was trying to protect you."

"But you can't protect everyone, Clark. Even with all your powers, there are still things that are beyond your control."

"No kidding," he snapped.

She rose then, and went to his side. "Okay. I know I'm making a mess of things. I'm still trying to figure it out myself, not tell you what to do."

"I wish someone would," Clark muttered.

Chloe brightened. "Well, maybe there's another way to approach this."

He looked at her. "If you have an idea, let's hear it."

"It just so happens I've been reading a little Chinese military strategy myself … Philosophy 101 is turning out to be not as much of a waste of time as I thought."

"What are you talking about?"

"_The Art of War_," Chloe replied with a sunny smile. "You could take a page from Lex's book."

"Chloe, I'm not in the mood to …"

"All right, all right. I was just thinking – 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.'"

"Yeah, but which is he?" Clark mumbled.

"I don't know, Clark," she said, her mouth turning in a little at the corners. "But I don't think you can figure it out from a distance."

-

The Kents rarely argued; but they were doing so now, and spectacularly.

"I can't believe you would give him that advice! What were you thinking, Martha?"

"I was thinking about what's best for Clark. I'm sorry you don't see it that way."

"How could that be what's best for Clark? Delivering him right into the hands of Lex Luthor?"

"Jonathan." She looked at him with an expression that was simultaneously stern and saintly. "Clark has two choices: he can be driven by bitterness and vengeance, or he can be motivated by forgiveness and love. Jor-El sees the world as weak and wants him to conquer it. If Clark is going to save it instead, he has to believe that it's worth saving."

"I don't see how Lex has anything to do with saving the world. I think he's more apt to destroy it."

"He has power and resources beyond all our imaginations. If Clark is meant for greatness, he'll need great friends. And Lex believes in him, Jonathan. He loves him. You have to see that."

Jonathan set his jaw and looked out the kitchen window towards the barn. "I'm going to go talk to Clark."

"You missed him," Martha replied softly. "He left a half an hour ago."

-

Lex reached out absently and brought the glass of merlot to his lips. Scotch was fine for moody contemplation, but the wine made him feel more decisive. And sitting here in his office, papers scattered widely around him, there were so many decisions to be made; he felt like a surgeon, exploring and excising.

That thought made the redness of the wine feel even more fitting.

He hadn't realized, until he heard the French doors swinging open, how much he had yearned for Clark's coming to him. He had known that he was anxious, that he awaited their next meeting with the trepidation of a condemned man. He knew he was resigned; he'd consigned himself to Clark's judgment that day in the cemetery and he would not waver in that commitment, no matter what sentence he might ultimately face.

But he hadn't realized, until that exact moment, how much he longed to simply look upon Clark's face one more time. Even if it was to be his last.

Time and space seemed to constrict and slow as Clark crossed the mahogany floor and Lex, dream-like, rose from his armchair to face him. The firelight cast all of Clark's features into harsh relief and Lex was struck, as he'd always been in some secret part of his mind, by his intense beauty. Maybe it was the wine, but Lex suddenly considered that it might not be so horrible to die upon the sword of such an avenging angel.

They both gave the moment of meeting the deference it deserved. But then Clark spoke.

"You said something about being honest."

"I did."

"Well, here it is. There's a part of me that hates you."

Lex cleared his throat and took another sip of wine; but then he met Clark's stare levelly. "I can accept that. I suppose I've given you lots of reasons."

"I don't know how we can move on from here," Clark continued. "A lot has happened, but you and I are both fundamentally the same."

"That's true," Lex agreed. "But we were friends before. Isn't that part of what remains the same?"

"I don't see how we're supposed to forget the things that have happened."

"Of course we can't forget," Lex conceded. "But it doesn't follow that things can't be different after this."

"I don't really see how."

"Well, there is honesty."

Clark stuffed his hands into his pockets. "With honesty comes trust. I don't think we're ready for that right now."

"Clark," said Lex simply, "more than anything else, all I've ever wanted was to be your friend."

"You have a strange way of going about it."

"We have a strange friendship."

Clark paused, then gave a small nod. "I suppose that's true."

Lex shifted on his feet; he had said "have," present tense, and Clark hadn't corrected him. That seemed like a good sign. "You said it was a part of you that hates me," he continued, toying with his glass. "That must mean there's another part that doesn't. And if that's true …" He lifted his eyebrows. "… then that's a start."

"I'm not sure how much of a start …"

"I have always cared about you, Clark," Lex interceded. "Whatever I should have done differently, you must know that much."

Clark shuffled his feet but didn't respond.

"As a matter of curiosity," Lex continued, draining the last of the wine in a hasty swig, "it might be nice to know whether my friendship ever meant anything to you."

"Of course it did," he snapped. "But you were always pushing, asking me for answers I couldn't give you. Do you think I enjoyed not being able to tell you everything? That I liked seeing the look on your face each time I had to push you back? But you can't expect me to apologize for it." He glowered. "I should think that, now, you'd understand."

"I don't think it will help to hash over whose lies were righteous and whose weren't," Lex said pragmatically, twirling his now-empty glass between his lithe fingers. "I think the most important question is whether two great liars can ever find a way to tell each other the truth."

"I don't like to think of myself as a liar," Clark said, his eyes flashing.

"Nor do I," Lex said, turning and crossing to the bar. "But I've spent a lot of time recently facing some ugly truths. I'm ready to admit it, if it means I can make a different future." Pouring the wine, he raised his glass in Clark's direction, a toast of sorts. "How about you, Clark?"

For a moment they only watched each other, the space between them yawning. The silence lasted long enough that Lex began to consider lowering his glass again. But then Clark asked, "What are you going to do? If I say yes – yes, I'll be your friend again – what are you going to do?"

"What friends do," Lex answered. "Converse. Spend time. Possibly tell jokes of dubious taste."

He huffed. "See, you always do that."

"What?"

"Avoid the question."

"I wasn't avoiding. I meant it. There's one I heard recently, I'd been waiting for a chance to tell you, about a pirate who walks into a bar …"

"Lex." It was the first time he'd spoken his name tonight; it sent an unexpected shiver up Lex's spine. "I'm serious."

Lex sobered instantly. "I want to make you all kinds of promises, Clark," he said earnestly, moving close again. "They're crowding my mouth even now, all the things I want to swear to you. But I know that you don't trust me – which is fair enough. So there's no point in my saying those things, even though I want to so desperately. And that makes seriousness a bit difficult."

Clark seemed to listen very carefully. His face softened just fractionally. And then he did what Clark always did; he changed the subject.

"What are you working on?"

Lex allowed the surge of emotion he felt to manifest itself in a very, very small smile.

"Trying to figure out how many wrongs it takes to make a right." He gestured at the files scattered all around the room; they covered his desk, the low table before the fire, even the floor. "These are just a few of the open LuthorCorp projects that are non-agricultural in nature: experiments with radiation, bizarre uses of meteor rock, even the refinement of dangerous pathogens. They were all begun while my father was still at the helm. I decided it was time to demand full transparency from every division of the company, and I have to admit that even I was surprised at the information that came pouring in. I haven't even gotten all the reports back yet … but these," he indicated the growing pile in a box at his feet, "are the ones I'm slating for immediate termination."

"Why?"

"Because most of them are highly unethical. All of them are dangerous. And none of them serve any positive purpose to mankind. Some of the findings, I'll warrant, might be applied in productive ways, and those I intend to leverage … I'll dismantle them, take the savings and reapply it into more constructive research. But it's time for LuthorCorp to decide where it stands in the scheme of human progress. I'd like to start us on a more altruistic path."

"That's a big change," Clark said neutrally.

"A ship this size will take some time to turn," Lex acknowledged. "But I'm not afraid of hard work, or of breaking new ground." His hands drifted over the files on the table, selected one, and held it out. "Here."

"What's this?" he asked, taking the folder and opening it.

"My plans for an endowment to Central Kansas A&M. An institute for the advancement of the meteor-affected. I thought you might like to read it over, maybe suggest some improvements."

Clark closed the file again without a further glance at its contents. "I'm not a meteor freak, Lex."

"Mmm." He took another sip of wine. It was distressing, how truth-challenged Clark really was. He was going to have to be very patient.

"I'm not."

"That's a fairly derogatory epithet. I would certainly never call you that."

"You'd be wrong, no matter how you phrased it."

Lex's expression was probing, but he restrained himself. "Okay."

"Look, I realize you know there's more," Clark said squarely. "Obviously I'm not just fast."

"Obviously. You're strong too – that's what really happened to the roof of my Porsche."

"Right," Clark continued artlessly. "So I know you want to know everything. And I don't suppose there's any point in continuing to hide any of it."

Lex took another drink to steady himself. "I thought," he offered, "it might demonstrate my commitment if I didn't come right out and ask."

"All right," Clark replied. "And I guess I can appreciate that. If you can appreciate – that I'm just not ready yet. You just said you understood it's hard to trust you. So we can talk about things like work and school … and us, I guess. But there are some things I don't want to talk about yet."

Lex reached out for the file. "I understand."

Clark handed it back to him. They regarded each other for another quiet moment.

And then Lex asked, "… Lana?"

Clark folded his arms across his chest. "That's another one."

-

"So tell me what they said."

"Who?" Clark asked, turning from the fire and fixing his gaze on Lex's face. They'd been talking for hours now, and he was surprised at how easily he was falling back into their old rhythm; but he still found it strange, to be sitting here like this when he'd believed just days ago that it could never happen again.

"Everyone," Lex answered with a gesture, "when you talked to them about this. Well, everyone except your father; he already shared his thoughts with me."

"He came here?"

"I'm surprised that surprises you. I would have been more curious if he hadn't."

"I guess you're right. But you tell first, then; what did he say?"

"What you'd expect." Lex finished off his fourth – fifth? – glass of wine. He wasn't drunk, but he did feel suffused in a rosy glow. He didn't want to stop drinking, either; he didn't want this evening to end. "He demanded to know my nefarious plans. He told me I'd be sorry. He stood there looking rugged." He grinned. "He did seem impressed by your handiwork, though."

"What? … Oh." Clark's glance flicked unconsciously to Lex's still-impressive black eye. "When was this?"

"Two days ago," he said. "If you like it now, you should have seen it then."

"Lex, I …"

"Don't be modest, Clark; I've never had a nicer one." He reached for the wine bottle. "I don't want you to apologize anyway; I know there's a place in you where it felt good to deck me. It's only human."

Clark grimaced; he had been having a very hard time feeling human lately. "I was being so careless," he murmured. "I'm glad I didn't hurt you any worse."

Lex suppressed a dark chuckle as he started his new glass of wine. "I suppose I should be, too. But that was all. So, your turn."

"What? … Oh, what did people say?"

"Right."

"Well, it's not like I consulted everyone I know."

"So just your parents."

"And Chloe."

"Chloe!" Lex echoed warmly. "And what did Chloe say?"

"She quoted _The Art of War_, actually."

Lex threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I like that," he said. "I should buy her an art edition."

Clark cracked a smile. "It was sort of surprising."

"That's what I like about Chloe," Lex replied meditatively. "She understands that everyone has value – even if they're just a means to an end. It's almost Machiavellian of her."

Clark wasn't sure if Chloe would find that complimentary. "Well, she said she's enjoying Philosophy 101. You two can talk about that stuff if you want, but it bores me to death."

"Philosophy isn't _boring_, Clark," Lex said with chagrin. "It's enlightening. Don't you have questions about the nature of existence? Don't you have a code you use to govern your actions?"

If Lex was going to keep drinking, and the conversation was going to turn to philosophy, maybe it was time they called it a night. "I do have questions," he grumbled. "But I don't think there are absolute answers."

"Of course not," Lex grinned. "If there were, there's no way you'd be sitting here with me right now."

Clark just looked at the floor; his head was swimming.

"It means more than I can tell you, Clark," Lex continued. "I know I'm not Chloe, but I will prove myself worthy of your trust one day."

"I didn't tell Chloe."

Lex blinked. "But you said …"

"I mean," Clark interrupted, "I didn't tell Chloe because I wanted to. I had to. She found out."

"I see." Lex shifted on the sofa. "So she forced your hand."

"I suppose you could say it like that."

"But you don't …" It was uncharacteristic for Lex to stumble over his words, but it wasn't the wine. "… You don't resent her for it."

"No. Chloe is my friend."

Lex had been fighting off a growing sensation of anxiety; but now it left him, and the change was palpable. He smiled as he resumed his relaxed posture.

Clark watched the transformation with intrigue. "What is it?"

"Oh," Lex breathed. "That means there might be hope for me, that's all."

A shadow crossed Clark's face, and his gaze became faraway as he looked back into the fire.

"I'm sorry," Lex said. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. Being with you like this just makes me feel so weightless."

Clark's mouth turned in at one corner. "I think that might just be the wine."

"Maybe." Lex looked down at the glass in his hand, then held it out. "I never asked if you wanted any."

Clark turned back and considered; the red liquid undulated beguilingly in the half-light.

"You look as though you could use some weightlessness," Lex coaxed.

"I don't know how you can drink that," Clark answered dully. "It looks too much like blood to suit my mood right now."

"Hmm," Lex said, taking the bottle in his other hand and moving back towards the bar. "Scotch it is."

-

"… And the pirate says, 'Arr, I know, and it's driving me nuts!'" Lex chortled.

Clark likewise snorted into his glass. "You have to be drunk if you think that's funny."

"That theory has potential," Lex replied, refilling them both. "Let us pursue it further."

Clark raised the glass towards his face again, but then paused and, watching the liquor swirl, grew somber. "I shouldn't be doing this," he said.

"You seem fine to me," Lex argued, then paused. "But it only just occurred to me … does alcohol even affect you?"

"No," Clark said, carefully placing the tumbler down.

"Then I'm sorry for you," Lex said ruefully. "Though if I could drink a river and not be any worse for it, I can't imagine I would ever stop."

"I can't drown my sorrows," Clark concluded, "so there's no point."

Lex tried not to sound affronted. "There's always a point to scotch. Intoxication is just a pleasant side-effect."

"I guess I wouldn't understand," Clark groused. "It's just another one of those things I'll never get to experience."

Lex was still in enough possession of himself to realize the mood was turning. "What are you talking about, Clark?"

"Oh, getting drunk. Feeling ordinary. Being happy."

"Do you," Lex asked delicately, putting his own glass down too and leaning forward in his chair, "want to tell me about it?"

Stormclouds were gathering on Clark's brow. He stared moodily into the fire. "I asked her to marry me."

The ice was growing thin; Lex could feel it. "I know," he said carefully. "She told me."

"Did she?" His eyes were searching.

"Yes." Lex took an imprudently large swallow of scotch. "I didn't think you wanted to talk about Lana."

"What did she say?"

Sighing, Lex looked away. He felt completely deflated; the evening had been going so well. He knew they would have to talk about Lana eventually, but if they waited long enough it might not be too dangerous. This was too soon though; Clark was too raw. He would say something to make Clark angry, he would leave again and they would have gotten nowhere.

He would give his right arm to really have Clark's friendship back. But he was not sure how much more miserable back-and-forth he could stand.

"She was happy," he answered simply. "Beaming, actually; proud. She loved you, Clark."

"That's not what I mean," Clark responded flatly, taking him by surprise.

"What then?"

"About me. When you asked her about me, what did she say?"

Lex swallowed drily, and hastily downed the rest of his drink. There was no option other than honesty; he just wished it didn't taste so terrible. "She said you weren't hiding anything."

An awful silence stretched between them. Then, finally, Clark whispered, "She lied for me."

"Clark," Lex said, throwing all caution to the wind – for now that disaster loomed it no longer seemed to matter – "I know I said I wouldn't make you any promises. But I have to tell you this: I will keep your secret 'til the day I die. I love you more than I can say. And even if you never look at me with trust again, I will spend every breath and every penny I possess to protect you. I swear it."

Lex wasn't sure when Clark had turned to look at him again, but when he finished speaking their gazes locked. For a moment they simply held. Then Clark said, "Eventually, I make liars of everyone."

Lex smiled in spite of himself. "I'm good at it. You don't have to worry."

"How will I know, then," Clark asked, "that you're telling me the truth?"

A beat. Then, "I promised Lana I would always be honest with her. For her, I'll make the same oath to you."

"For Lana," Clark repeated vacantly. "Who I killed."

"Clark," Lex implored, reaching out – but stopping himself just shy of Clark's sleeve – "you didn't."

"You don't understand," he insisted, his voice trembling with barely-controlled emotion. "I was … I was told. It was to pay for … bringing me back, that someone else would have to die in my place. So it _is_ my fault."

So many questions Lex wanted to ask. Instead held his tongue. "Whatever else you might be, Clark," he sighed, "you're not God."

Clark buried his head in his hands and sobbed.

For one moment longer Lex hesitated; then he went to him.

Lex couldn't recall that he'd ever held Clark before. The closest they'd come was that day on the banks of the Elbow River, when Lex's eyes had opened to Clark's face hovering just inches from his. Lex's first dazed thought had been to wonder if this beautiful youth had given him mouth-to-mouth, or if the burning in his face was just from the deployment of the airbag. Whichever it had been, in that day's intimacy of drenched clothes and concussion, a love was born in him that even death and mutual deception could not destroy.

He remembered and revered that moment of awakening now, like an amnesiac suddenly faced with a glimmer of recognition. He tried to infuse his touch with those feelings, that Clark might know he had finally lost his ability to lie to him.

Since their trial by water they had faced many crises, and some had left them shaken, but Lex now felt something within him spreading like wings. Here was the very lowest point, the bitter ashes; but they could rise from them. He would will it, and if Clark would trust him, they would fly.

His arms felt surprisingly comfortable around Clark, who did not push him away. Lex's cheek found a place to rest against his shoulder and rode the shudders of his tears like a small boat tossed on an angry sea.

Lex did not know when this storm would end, or what he would say to Clark when he lifted his tearstained face to look at him again. He did not know when, or if, Clark would tell him the rest of what he longed to know. He did not even know if he would ever touch Clark like this again.

But he could be patient. He held him to his heart now. It was enough.


End file.
